


Like a Tightrope over the Istandaartha

by wedgetail



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Alternative Perspective, Family, Gen, Missing Scene, Politics, people trying to figure out Maia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:35:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26988352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wedgetail/pseuds/wedgetail
Summary: Maia was on the verge of open revolt over the dinner party hosted by Marquis Lanthevel. In sooth, his host had been equally sceptical about the evening.While the dinner proved more entertaining than expected, Lanthevel is glad when the emperor departs. Some conversations are not meant for an emperor’s ears. And, besides, the Lanthevada have a decision to make.
Relationships: Lanthevel (The Goblin Emperor) & Iviro Lanthevin
Comments: 86
Kudos: 134





	1. The Dinner Party

“That wasn’t half as painful as thou hast promised me,” Iviro remarked with a coy smile.

Captain Orthema, his wife Reneian Orthemo and Ailano Pashavar had made their farewells shortly after the emperor departed. The hour was late and the servants still had much to do. Thus the remaining members of the dinner party — Lanthevel himself, his niece Iviro and Lord Pashavar — had vacated the dining room to let them work in peace. They retreated to the garden room — a humid greenhouse where the gardener coaxed the roses to bloom even in the depths of winter.

Lanthevel sipped at his tea and inhaled the sweet scent of the enclosed garden. Between his work and the preparations for the dinner party, the day had been hectic. This was the first quiet moment he’d had since before dawn.

“Dost thou not think so, uncle?” Iviro pressed. “Even Merrim Orthemo graced us with a few smiles by the time dessert was served. She was as jittery as a rabbit out on an open field when the evening started.”

“And the emperor managed a joke. I wouldn’t have thought he had it in him. Typically, his dinner-time conversation partners report that he projects all the personality of a dead fish,” Pashavar piped in. He had never developed a taste for tea, whether black or herbal, so he enjoyed the remnants of the night’s selection of wine. Tapping his fingers against the side of his armchair, he added, “Setheris Nelar has much to answer for. As does Varenechibel.”

“In sooth,” Lanthevel said, “I’m in two minds on this. On one hand, everyone should receive an education. On the other, he was the fourth son. The kind of education that befits a future emperor is both an expensive and a time-consuming endeavour.”

“It’s not about education, Lanthevel.”

Iviro bit back a giggle and Lanthevel too could tell his friend was on the verge of embarking on one of his favourite past times — a tirade. But they had spent the evening carefully choosing their words; Lanthevel could not begrudge Pashavar his desire to speak more freely now. He motioned for Pashavar to go on.

“The boy's damaged,” Pashavar declared. “You don’t get to see it, but I’m at Corazhas meetings with him day in and day out. He has the responses of a servant boy who expects to be backhanded whenever he utters a word. He has intelligence enough to try to hide it — in sooth he’s not half the dolt he’s rumoured to be — but when one takes the trouble to really look, it’s clear. He’s afraid of his own shadow.”

Lanthevel sighed. “I don’t dispute your conclusions, Pashavar. I saw more than enough tonight. To be frank, that he chose his two nohecharei over his cousin for the coronation ceremony should have been a clue to us all.”

“We should’ve guessed what the end-result would be the day he was sent off with Nelar! Everyone knew what Nelar was like. Arrogant. Ambitious. Short-tempered. And exile does not improve any man’s disposition. At the same time, the son of the man who had condemned Nelar to a life in exile in the marshes, without even the comfort of his wife’s company, is right there. Of course his foul moods would turn upon the boy.”

Quiet fell over the room. Lanthevel had no counter-argument to give and Iviro likely had none to offer either. Now that Pashavar has laid out all the facts before them, the outcome did seem to have been an inevitability from the beginning. A cold guilt settled in the pit of Lanthevel’s stomach. It wasn’t the guilt of a bystander to a tragedy, but the more uncomfortable realisation that he hadn’t even taken the time to consider that a tragedy might have occurred.

Varenechibel’s fourth wife and her unwanted son were sent off a Drazhada country estate as soon as she had recovered enough to travel. After her death, her boy was sent off with Nelar. Out of sight, out of mind. Others, including Pashavar, had pressed the issue with the late emperor, but Lanthevel had never spared so much as a second-thought for Varenechibel’s decisions regarding his youngest son.

“Would that Nemolis got his way on this. He wanted his brother here at court,” Iviro said with a shake of her head, then tugged at the woollen shawl she had draped over herself after the emperor’s departure.

That was news to Lanthevel, but he suspected Iviro spoke the truth. He trusted his niece’s factual information about Nemolis, if not her sentiments. Iviro was a few years older than Nemolis and their circles of friendship overlapped throughout their lives. And Nemolis had always possessed an easy charm. Many among the younger generation at the court had eagerly awaited the day Nemolis ascended the throne.

Lanthevel scoffed. “Nemolis was useless. Anyone who had to work with him on serious matters knew that. He could prattle off a few pleasant-sounding platitudes, but the man lacked any of that Drazhadeise tenacity.”

“Or perhaps he had a sense of self-preservation,” Iviro replied. “Even an emperor’s heir might fall afoul of the emperor’s temper.”

“Nemolis in exile? That would’ve been quite the scandal,” Pashavar snickered. He tipped the rest of his wine into his mouth and set the now-empty glass onto the table. “I had best take my leave. I told Ailano I’d be five minutes behind her and it’s been at least half an hour.”

“Don’t you worry, when she hears ‘it’ll be only five minutes’, she knows better than expect you to keep your word,” Lanthevel responded but rose from his seat nonetheless. It was close to midnight and all of them had work to attend to come morning.

“It was good to see you again, Lord Pashavar,” Iviro said as she and Lanthevel bade Pashavar farewell at the door.

“Your company is always a pleasure, Dach’osmin Lanthevin. And you, Lanthevel, remain tolerable,” Pashavar replied.

Lanthevel flicked his hand toward the door. “Get out of my house, you old ogre.”

He and Iviro watched the door swing shut behind Pashavar and waited for his footsteps to fade into the distance. The household staff had retreated to their servants’ areas of the apartments and would finish there last of the work there shortly. The rest of the house was now dark and every shuffle threatened to echo through the rooms. Lanthevel sank onto a bench positioned between the front door and the gilded coat rack, and sighed tiredly.

Iviro crossed her arms. “Well, uncle, what hast thou decided?”

She would have been itching to throw this question at him the minute the emperor left. But some matters were too sensitive to be discussed outside the family, even with friends as old and dear as Pashavar. Seeing that Lanthevel was in no hurry to offer an answer, she paced the length of the narrow entryway.

“What have I decided?” Lanthevel muttered under his breath, then spoke more audibly. “Why thinks thou that I have I decided anything as of yet? It’s not some fleeting trifle we ponder here.”

“I understand, uncle. But the question stands nonetheless. Who is to be the crowned emperor of the Ethuveraz?”

It was a heavy question, possibly the heaviest of all. How Lanthevel chose to answer might yet determine the fate of all that lived in the Ethuveraz, his and his family’s included.

At this point, only the deaf and mute would be ignorant of the truth — the court was ill at ease. Foul rumours spread. These were not the sort that would emerge naturally, but deliberate, malicious gossip. When one lived one’s life suffocated by the dark molasses of court intrigue, one learned to tell the difference. Lanthevel thought he knew the sources of this discontent. And he strongly suspected the discontented would not soothe themselves with spreading nasty tales.

He was only a marquess, not a prince of the five principalities. And he was not a member of the Corazhas either. But as the presider of the House of Blood he held considerable sway nevertheless. Should the discontented decide to act, they would expect to have his support.

Lanthevel cocked his head as a dark suspicion overtook his thoughts. “How far has it gone? Have they made definite overtures towards us?”

Powerful men at the court understood the importance of circumspection. A plot is too easily unravelled when all the participants gathered in a smoke-filled salon every second Tuesday of the month, or suddenly embarked on hunting trips every week. Thus, everyone worth knowing used intermediaries. Iviro, who dined socially with many crucial figures at the court and unhindered by a husband, was Lanthevel’s.

She turned on her heel and peered at him, her ears lifting in agitation. “They are eager to expedite matters. But they want to be sure they have the support among those who matter.”

Lanthevel drew in a long breath and exhaled slowly. “What thinkst thou, Iviro?”

“Edrehasivar has promise. Chavar is in a hurry because he worries he’ll be dismissed and replaced. As to Prince Idra, I don’t know. There’re no worrying signs, but he is fourteen,” she said in a steely tone that was reserved for the rare conversations where she could be wholly honest with her opinions.

“Should Edrehasivar be removed from the scene, Marquess Imel will be his closest male relation.”

“That’s a worry. I’ve known horses more intelligent than Imel.”

“As have I.” Lanthevel tilted his head back until he stared up at the shadowed ceiling, then jerked his head down, startling Iviro. “Fine. I’m resolved. The Lanthevada will not support any move against Edrehasivar until Idra reaches his majority and can raise his own banners.”

Iviro quirked her brows. “It’s two years before he comes of age. Edrehasivar might have an heir of his own by then and his position will be that much stronger for it.”

“I’d rather we have to smother a newborn than allow Shevean to play a part in her son’s regency. Chavar is a fool to have allied with her in the first place.”

Silence fell between them while Iviro peered at him with a strange look on her face. Lanthevel supposed it was not like him to speak so callously of murder and treason. He was a scholar, not a soldier. No, he had once been a scholar. He was a politician now and while scholars could cloak themselves in sentiment, politics were a cold, harsh undertaking. If a few lives could be exchanged for the lives of many, it had to be done.

When Iviro finally spoke, her words had a wry undertone. “In sooth, uncle, I suspect that after tonight, thou art not half as sceptical about the emperor as thou wouldst believe thyself to be. It’s only that thou fearest to draw Chavar’s displeasure.”

“Thou art babbling nonsense,” Lanthevel scoffed. “My concern is for our family and our realm, as it has ever been. Chavar’s hysterics don’t interest me.”

“However—”

“Iviro. My answer is set.”

Having learned many years ago that once Lanthevel’s mind was made up, he could not be swayed to alter his decision, Iviro nodded and replied, “Then I will inform the concerned parties: Edrehasivar has two years to earn the loyalty of the Lanthevada.”


	2. In A Pre-Dawn Hour

Lanthevel rolled onto his back, not in the least pleased to be awake. Darkness lay heavy over his bed-chamber and the narrow gap in the curtains only hinted at the first signs of dawn. While he needed to start his day early, the matters awaiting him were not so pressing that they demanded he rise with the predawn murk.

“No, wait!” someone shouted.

Lanthevel sighed. So that was what had startled him out of his slumber.

More shouts came, unmistakably from the broad courtyard that sprawled beneath the windows of the Lanthevada apartments. By the sound of it, several people were involved. Their voices grew more agitated and overlapped until Lanthevel could not make out a word of what was said. Lanthevel, however, thought he recognised one of the voices. Nurevis Chavar. And that gave him a good idea of the crowd likely to be responsible for the tumult.

_Must you make this raucous at this hour and in the heart of the court? Surely, one of your fathers owns a hunting lodge where you could run amok._

Although he felt like a self-important geriatric shaking his fist at those who still permitted themselves frivolity, Lanthevel was nevertheless pursing his lips as he fluffed up his goose-feather pillows. Lanthevel did not begrudge their youth; he got himself entangled in plenty of ludicrous schemes at their age. But the young Nurevis Chavar would collapse into bed once the sun rose, Lanthevel, meanwhile, would be presiding over the last parliamentary session before Winternight. He needed to eke out every minute of sleep he could.

Lanthevel tugged his braided hair from under the hem of his nightshirt, carefully set the tail of the braid on the pillow next to his head and tugged his blankets closer around himself. After a few minutes, the shouts petered out. He was on the verge of drifting off again when the door to his bed-chamber creaked open.

“Sire,” Inderis, Lanthevel’s man-servant, said. “Sire, are you awake?”

Lanthevel groaned and sat up, shielding his eyes from the light of the candle in Inderis’ hand. “We are. Those young profligates woke us some minutes ago.”

“Sire, the Untheileneise Guard is all through the hallways, both the public and the servants’. And a rumour is flying about that the emperor is dead,” Inderis replied, his ears dipping and voice growing strained by the time he finished. Lanthevel sympathised. Inderis’ cousin had served as one of Varenechibel’s edocharei and thus perished aboard the _Wisdom of Choharo_. Talk of an emperor’s death was sure to have stirred up bitter memories.

But if Edrehasivar was dead, this was not the time to indulge in emotion. Lanthevel scrambled to his feet, grabbed his dressing gown from the rack where Inderis stored it for the night, and strode to the front door.

Inderis had spoken true. Half a dozen guardsmen were making their way down the hallway. Another four seemed to be stationed to guard the staircase at the hallway’s end.

“Please remain within your residence!” one of the guards called out upon spotting Lanthevel’s head peering out past the threshold of his doorway.

Lanthevel stepped out fully and left the front door only open a crack. He knew he did not look like much in his dressing gown and a pair to slippers. No doubt his hair was unsightly also; his thinning hair escaped the confines of his night braid no matter how tightly Inderis braided it. But Lanthevel drew himself to his full height and in a commanding voice he usually reserved for fractious lordlings, asked, “What is afoot that the Untheileneise Guard is marshalling in the hallways in the middle of the night?”

The guardsman who had spoken earlier opened his mouth to reply, but his lieutenant cut him off with a flick of his hand. The lieutenant walked over to Lanthevel and leaned in so only Lanthevel could hear his words.

“A coup was attempted against the emperor tonight.”

Lanthevel sucked in a sharp breath, nearly on it. “A coup?”

“We’d wager a guess, Dach’osmer Lanthevel, that you will be given information shortly and it’ll be more comprehensive than what we will ever know. But, for now, my lord, please remain within your apartments. That’ll ease the work we have been designated.” 

“What work would that be?” Lanthevel asked, only to be met by a sour look. He shook his head in dismissal of the question and chose a better one. “Is the emperor safe? Our manservant tells us there is a vile rumour that the emperor is dead.”

“As far as we are aware, his serenity is unharmed,” the lieutenant replied. “Please excuse us, my lord. We have much to do ere the dawn.”

“Yes, of course, lieutenant. We thank you for your assistance.”

Lanthevel glanced once more to the rest of the guardsmen and retreated to the shadowed calm of his apartments. But he felt nothing of this calm in himself — his heart pounded and painful knots were twisting at the base of his abdomen. Nurevis Chavar’s shouting. Those guardsmen on the stairs at the end of the hallway. The stairs that led a level up and over to the eastern wing of this annex, where the Chavada kept their apartments. Chavar and Shevean must have made their play. And they failed. Now there would be a reckoning.

“Rouse the household,” Lanthevel said. “Tell our niece that there has been a coup attempt and much has to be done. We will be in our study.”

“Yes, sire.” Inderis moved to turn away, then paused and asked, “What of the emperor?”

“Hale, as far as the guardsmen report it,” Lanthevel replied. He was more than a little surprised at the relief he felt at the thought that Edrehasivar had made it through the night unharmed.

_At the same time, he_ _’s now well-positioned to strike back._

While he was undisturbed and unobserved in the privacy of his study, Lanthevel planted his hands onto the edge of the windowsill. He allowed his spine to curl and sucked in heaving breaths, but it was no use. The guard remained loyal to the emperor and doubtlessly, they presently scoured the court in search of anyone connected with the conspirators. With each passing minute, Lanthevel felt himself inching closer to outright panic. He was no scholar of history, but he was familiar with enough Ethuverazheise history to know what inevitably followed a failed coup: a purge of the court.

_Get thyself in order. Thou art not at the gallows yet._

The day’s sitting of parliament would need to be postponed or outright cancelled. Parliamentary sittings required a significant level of support from the Chancellery, which would be in chaos today and for the near future. But Lanthevel did not feel it appropriate to issue any official declarations about the parliament until he received some official correspondence about the coup from the Alcethmeret. It was not that Lanthevel distrusted a lieutenant of the Untheileneise Guard, but the man was only a lieutenant and his word was only worth so much.

There was, however, something else Lanthevel could work on while he waited on the emperor’s secretaries.

Iviro did not appear for another half an hour, but which time the sun was truly rising and Lanthevel was three paragraphs into his second draft of his letter to the emperor. She strode in, immaculately dressed in scarlet adorned with golden brocade. Lanthevel personally thought the vivid colour washed out her delicate elven features, but Iviro did not appreciate his opinions on her fashion choices, so Lanthevel had long ago given up on offering them. Instead, he slid the draft letter over to her.

“What thinkst thou?” he asked, the muscles of his throat taut.

“What writest thou? A letter? Thou has here the introductory paragraphs to an essay on the etymology of the words ‘loyalty’ and ‘fealty’,” Iviro answered, not unkindly but with a hint of impatience in her tone. She seemed about to hand him back the draft, but then stopped and reread his words with greater care. “There’s no hurry to this. The emperor has more important matters to attend to than his correspondence. If anything, an over-hurried, overly lengthy letters may raise suspicion. It might make someone think we might have a guilty conscience.”

“And we must not look guilty. Truly, that is the last thing we want. Suspicion, once drawn, may be difficult to shift.”

“I don’t…” Iviro’s ears twitched. “Uncle, we’re not complicit in whatever happened in the Alcethmeret overnight.”

“We may be found complicit by association,” Lanthevel replied. 

While, yes, Lanthevel did not know of the plans or dates for this coup. And neither had Iviro — Lanthevel was sure she would have informed him had she learned mutterings against the emperor had progressed to outright conspiracy. But they had known of the discontent frothing up in the very heart of the court and did not alert anyone. Moreover, whatever Lanthevel and Iviro’s personal inclinations might be, the Lanthevada were a conservative house. Lanthevel would never have held on to his commanding seat within the House of Blood, the most politically conservative body within the government of the Ethuveraz, if not for the formidable reputations his father and grandfather had commanded.

Iviro started to respond, but Lanthevel got his words out quicker, “The coming days will make it clear what manner of man our young emperor truly is.”

“The Drazhada are famed for their temper as much as their stubbornness,” Iviro added unhappily. She set Lanthevel’s letter down and crossed her arms in front of her. “The Great Avar is not a sweet-tempered goblin either.”

“Exactly. I’ll make another attempt at this letter. In the meantime, wouldst thou speak with thy usual circles? It would only be a small comfort to know what storm approaches, but at the present, we should take comfort where we can.”

“That is already underway,” Iviro replied. “Get thyself washed and dressed, uncle. Hast thou forgotten thou art still in thy nightshirt and dressing gown? Then we shall work out this letter together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I promise only two chapters? Yes, I certainly did. But I'm a serial failure at estimating how many chapters I need. :/
> 
> Also: I am toying with a plotbunny about a scenario where Sepheris dies while Maia is still underage and Nemolis gets himself involved until Verenechibel decides on a new guardian for Maia. Would there be any interest in this sort of storyline?


	3. Age of Rumour

**Day I**

It took another three hours and a lengthy detour into the history of the tumultuous reign of Belvesena IX before Lanthevel and Iviro finished the letter to the emperor. Neither of them was satisfied with the final version, but they had reached an impasse. Lanthevel removed all references to Belvesena IX. In exchange, he retained the rest of the contents despite Iviro’s protestations that his wording was excessive, overly flowery and a denigration to the dignity of their family.

She still looked put out when she returned to the study, saying, “The letter is off to the Alcethmeret.” But her frown then flicked into a self-satisfied grin as she held up two envelopes. “In turn, we have news. Both official and unofficial.”

Lanthevel knew at once which of the two was official correspondence; the emperor’s staff always used the same thick, eggshell-white paper. He pried off the seal and unfolded the envelope wherein he found a missive signed by Mer Aisava, but not written in his hand. Not an intended slight to the Lanthevada, Lanthevel decided. There had to have been a great number of such missives to distribute and an imperial secretary would have much to do on a morning such as this one.

_“To Dach’osmer Lanthevel. Greetings._

_As you may already be aware, an attempt was made against the government of his imperial serenity, Edrehasivar VII Zhas, in the early hours of this morning. Princess Shevean Drazhan and the now-former Lord Chancellor Uleris Chavar sought to force his imperial serenity to relegate power in favour of his imperial highness, Prince Idra Drazhar. The plot was swiftly unravelled. His imperial serenity remains in full health and since Prince Idra was unaware of_ _…._ ”

Lanthevel skimmed the three remaining lines and upon finding nothing of interest in them, handed the letter to Iviro. “This only confirms what we already surmised. Well, save for the statement that Prince Idra was ignorant of this plot.”

“That could well be. Chavar and Shevean might have thought it safer for him to remain ignorant. It interests me more that, from the looks of this, the emperor doesn’t suspect Aisava to have been involved. The man was in Chavar’s direct employ only a few months ago.”

“Perhaps he’s biding his time until a replacement is found. Or perhaps he’ll now elevate Aisava to chancellor; imperial favour runs that way sometimes.”

Iviro snickered. “Perhaps. Hast thou heard the rumour that Edrahasivar and Aisava are in a tryst?”

“Far too often. And I’d be quicker to believe he and Csoru were in a tryst.” Anyone with half a brain would dismiss rumours about the emperor and his secretary after two moments’ thought. For one, the emperor’s infatuation with Nedao Vechin was known to all. More importantly, these tales about Aisava came from the same sources as those spreading the equally fanciful tale that the emperor had orchestrated the crash of _the Wisdom of Choharo._ Lanthevel made a face. “Never mind that nonsense. What else do we know?”

She pushed the second letter towards him. It was written on much thinner paper that had an unappealing grey tint, but its contents — if true —might as well have been gold. In plain and concise words, the letter detailed the main events of the night: the treason of the emperor’s nohecharis, the emperor’s kidnapping, the chaotic efforts of his staff to find him, and his eventual rescue from the cellars beneath Prince Nemolis’ family apartments.

“If this is accurate, the audacity of it is astounding. To drag an emperor from his own bed,” Lanthevel muttered, then cringed at his naivete. _How dost thou think these affairs usually go? With an emperor chaperoned by his usual flock of attendants and offered refreshments before his throat is slit?_ He cleared his throat in an effort to flee from the dark images his mind conjured. “Who is this information from?”

“A recent recruit.” Iviro’s self-satisfied smile resurfaced.

“So I gathered.”

Inderis’ edocharis cousin had been the Lanthevada’s chief source of information from the Alcethmeret for the best part of the decade. But he’d had no more chance of surviving the airship crash than the emperor and his sons had.

“The letter is from Echelo Esaran, the house steward of the Alcethmeret. She was rather rattled to be serving a half-goblin, eighteen-year-old emperor and her family is in dire financial strife.”

Lanthevel chuckled. “Oh, well done. Thou art a treasure, Iviro, truly.”

“Thank you, uncle.” She allowed herself a few seconds to savour Lanthevel’s compliment, then straightened her face and sat herself down in the chair opposite Lanthevel’s. “The nohecharis was a good move; the rest was foolishness. Did Chavar think no one would ask questions after they announced Edrehasivar had abdicated in the middle of the night and without witnesses?”

“And if they didn’t want Idra involved until later, why drag him in when Edrehasivar requested it?”

“I’d like to know what he wanted with Idra in the first place.”

Iviro slipped her hand into an inner pocket sewn into her petty coat and produced several pieces of paper, each folded up multiple times over. These were a common sight in the Lanthevada household. They came from the couriers, pages and servants in Iviro’s employ – a myriad of small, unnoticed figures who together made a formidable network of spies throughout the court and beyond it.

She unfolded them one by one, laying them in a row on Lanthevel’s desk. “We have snatches of the aftermath. A doctor was sent for the emperor’s injured edocharei. The Untheileneise Guard was dispatched to detain the Chavada and keep them under house arrest. Prince Idra and his sisters are being moved to the Alcethmeret nursery. By his servants’ reports, the emperor is furious, such as nothing they’d ever seen from him before.”

“Of course not. They never saw him in the aftermath of an attempted coup before.”

Lanthevel had intended for his words to add some levity to the conversation, but his words came out cold and cynical. And on some level he was surprised. Thinking back to the demure young man with whom he had dined only the other week, Lanthevel would have imagined the emperor huddling in his bed for at least a half a day before his fear transmuted into anger.

“He is also due to interview with Chavar and Shevean this afternoon,” Iviro said.

She met Lanthevel’s eyes, her expression as apprehensive as Lanthevel’s own undoubtedly was. “Interview” was a slippery word. It could refer to a well-mannered conversation. It might also involve implements of torture. And when one had one’s fingernails ripped out and burning irons pressed against the flesh of one’s thighs, one did become more talkative. Shevean might keep her pride. But Chavar was not the type to withstand the rigours of a proper interrogation, no more than Lanthevel himself would be. Chavar would talk and, if pressed, he would name as many co-conspirators as he needed to in order to get the pain to stop.

“We must know what Chavar and Shevean say,” Lanthevel said. “Offer thy people more, if thou must. Certainly give the house steward a bonus.”

“Already have,” Iviro replied. She read over the various snatches of news one more time, then balled them up together and threw them into the fireplace.

# # #

More snippets of information came in as the day went on, both from Iviro’s network and from what Inderis reported hearing circulate among the servants.

_Thirty-eight of the secretarial staff have been arrested_

_Nurevis Chavar remains confined to the Chavada family apartments_

_The emperor is to hire two new nannies for the Alcethmeret_

_Uleris Chavar will be executed tomorrow morning_

Information spread much faster away from the ornate public halls of the court. While the nobility was strongly advised to remain within their residences, the guardsmen could not lock down the servants — the court needed to be fed, laundry had to be washed and firewood restocked. But speed also bred inaccuracy as anxiety and wild flights of fancy consumed the court.

_The emperor has ordered the gallows to be built in the central courtyard; they are to be finished in two days_

_The emperor has interviewed the prince_ _’s tutor and threw the man into the Nevennamire_

_The entire secretarial staff is under arrest_

_The Witness for the Prelacy has already committed revethvoran_

Lanthevel took to doing circuits of the Lanthevada apartments, torn between his need to know anything anyone within the court whispered and wondering if it was better not to know after all. He also tried to remind himself that not all they heard was true, probably the bulk of it. Many rumours contradicted themselves, some sounded like outright hysteria. And yet he could not calm himself.

Iviro meanwhile looked to be more at ease. But she ate only a few mouthfuls both at lunch and dinner, which suggested to Lanthevel that she was not nearly as nonchalant about the furore in the court as she tried to appear to be.

It was a relief when, shortly after dinner, another message arrived from the Alcethmeret: _Mer Aisava ordered the grills of the Alcethmeret to be closed for the day so the emperor can retire._

“Good,” Lanthevel muttered, “he can’t do anything to us while he sleeps.”

**Day II**

Lanthevel did go to bed, but falling and staying asleep proved an achievement he could not manage. He woke up the next day, not in the least refreshed. Worse yet, as Lanthevel was finishing up his breakfast, Inderis informed him that Count Drichemel, an influential man with extensive property in Thu-Athamar, had committed revethvoran overnight. Lanthevel refused to believe this before Iviro had verified the information.

She had the truth of it an hour later. Drichemel had indeed died sometime in the night, but he had committed suicide. Iviro was quick to add that Drichemel was the first cousin to the Witness for the Prelacy, who was now confirmed to have been directly involved with the plot against the emperor.

“As for the Witness himself,” she concluded, “the rumour about him being permitted a revethvoran is false also. He’s still alive and is down in the cells with Shevean, Chavar and all the others implicated.”

_The longer they live, the more time there is for them to talk. And to name names._

With Parliament affairs now delayed until some as of yet unidentified date, Lanthevel attempted to keep himself occupied by catching up on his academic work. But none of the books he picked up held his attention. His mind kept straying to speculation about what would come and his ears twitched at any abrupt sound, lest it be the clang of armed men massing at his front door.

“This waiting for the unknown is a form of torment in itself,” Lanthevel muttered under his breath as he flipped shut the book in front of him. “Just get on with it, Edrehasivar.”

By the late afternoon, it became clear that while an armed presence would remain conspicuous throughout the court for some time yet, the Untheileneise Guard was no longer hindering movement of the court nobility as a whole. Concerned that he might scream if he had to look at the walls of his apartments for much longer, Lanthevel ventured out to the courtyard. But once there, he only wanted to scream at the bare branches of the trimmed-back rose bushes and the soggy path underfoot.

He stomped back inside, where Iviro was waiting.

“Uncle, thou hast the emperor’s reply.”

The salutation and sign-offs aside, the letter was all of three lines long. It was in Mer Aisava’s neat hand with the emperor’s signature a charmless scrawl across the bottom. But it was an improvement on the assistant secretary’s hand of the previous day. Aisava had also attempted to personalise the response, which was a welcome surprise.

“A well-phrased letter,” Lanthevel said, “as one would expect from Aisava. Which, of course, means absolutely nothing. Have there been any other developments?”

Iviro cocked her head, sending the strands of sapphires hanging off her ears clanging lightly against each other. “There is a new nohecharis.”

“That’s only to be exp—”

“Yes, I realise. The thing is, the nohecharis is said to be a woman.”

“That’s utterly preposterous.” Lanthevel drew his brows together. “The nohecharei are always male, for the obvious reasons. It’d be indecent otherwise.”

“I’m inclined to agree with thee, but I’ve heard it said so from multiple sources, including from the house steward. Nonetheless, I’ll try to find out more about this.” Iviro sighed tiredly. “The mystery of the nohecharis aside, there’s little else of note. The emperor is occupied with his correspondence and his staff don’t want to fret him because Dazhis Athmaza’s revethvoran is to take place tonight.”

“I don’t follow. Do they expect him to be dissatisfied by that? He can deny the revethvoran if he doesn’t think it sufficient punishment.”

Iviro shrugged. “I understand no more than thee.”

**Day III**

Iviro had more updates for him by the time he finished his breakfast. But as she worked through the list, dismissing one falsehood after another — for instance, there was no sign of the much-anticipated gallows in the central courtyard — Lanthevel shook his head and rose from the table.

“No more,” he said. “I can’t take this anymore; it’ll only drive me to an apoplexy. Come back when there are real news to be heard.”

“If that is thy preference,” Iviro replied, her words tinged with a reproachful undertone.

“It is.”

Lanthevel was no more in the mood for political work than he was to listen to rumours and tall tales. Instead, he delved into a project he had been putting off for months — a translation of three-years’ worth of correspondence between two high-ranking noblemen from the reign of Beltanthiar III. The Elflands had been more accepting of marnei in those days, so they did not feel it necessary to hide the nature of their relationship. Lanthevel worked at a brisk pace, except when the contents became particularly explicit and he had to pause until his cheeks stopped burning with second-hand embarrassment.

He took his lunch at his desk and heard nothing from Iviro until she burst into his study shortly after two. She began speaking before he had even acknowledged her interruption. “Thou wilt be interested to know this one.”

_I have my doubts._

Despite his misgivings, Lanthevel set aside his translation. “Out with it then.”

“The emperor has released Setheris Nelar; the man was arrested as part of the broad sweep of the Chancellery staff. Several other people were released this morning too. However, Nelar was the only one dragged to see the emperor before their fate was decided.”

_He was an excellent teacher, when he could be bothered_. A telling remark from an emperor who seemed determined to avoid discussing his childhood or his relations with the rest of the Drazhada. Iviro had heard that remark too and Lanthevel knew that although she had not voiced the question, she had to be thinking along the same lines as he was. Why wouldn’t the emperor take this opportunity to rid himself of Nelar once and for all?

“Perhaps he took to heart Pashavar’s grumblings about due process and Varenechibel’s unfortunate habit of forgoing it,” Lanthevel said slowly, his mind still working through the possibilities and likely implications. “Or perhaps he’s on better terms with Nelar than we thought. The two of them were alone in the marshes for ten years; some level of comradeship would only be natural.”

“There’s another possibility thou considerest not. This new emperor of ours simply might not be interested in retribution.”

Lanthevel did not quite have the words on hand to respond to that, but he did not have to either because Inderis appeared at the doorway. He had news of his own: Pashavar was at the front door. Lanthevel glanced at the clock and frowned. He had entirely forgotten Pashavar was meant to drop by today — they had agreed on it the previous week when there was no coup to occupy everyone’s attention. But that was by and by, informal drinks with Pashavar did not require any great pageantry. No, what struck Lanthevel was that Pashavar had arrived an hour early.

“We’ll take tea in the greenhouse,” Lanthevel said. “Thank you, Inderis.”


	4. Age of Change

The Lanthevada household staff knew to pour Pashavar a glass of red wine in lieu of the herbal tea Lanthevel and Iviro would take. He already had a glass in his hand by the time Lanthevel ordered the notes strewn across his desk, and he and Iviro made it to the greenhouse.

“Dach’osmin Lanthevin, you look as resplendent as ever. Lanthevel, your chin remains weak and distracting,” Pashavar said. “The Corazhas meeting concluded early; I thought you’d forgive my premature arrival.”

“I was planning to until you took aim at the chin,” Lanthevel replied. He helped Irivo into her chair — a gesture etiquette demanded rather than any genuine need for Iviro to have his assistance — then himself took the seat next to Pashavar.

“Hmm. The chin might’ve been a low-blow, but I’ll make it up to you. We have a new chancellor. Would you care to know the man’s name?”

“Is it Aisava?” Iviro asked.

Pashavar took a generous sip of his wine. “That was my thought too, but no. Berenar.”

“That’s actually…” Lanthevel blinked. “That’s a good choice. A known moderate and on good terms with most other major players, especially now that Chavar is out of the picture. Moreover, he worked closely with the Chancellor’s office in his previous position. Did the emperor propose him?”

“He did. And no one had any serious counter-arguments. But with Berenar elevated to Chancellor, we were two witnesses short, so the meeting could hardly go on.”

“Two short? Oh. The witness for the Prelacy. Surely the archprelate would have been in attendance if a replacement hasn’t been selected yet?”

Two maids arrived with food and drinks. One carried a large silver samovar, the other a heavy tray laden with cheeses, cured meats, roasted nuts and dried fruits. Iviro and Pashavar tried a few things from the selection on offer, but it was clear neither of them was genuinely interested in the food. The moment the servants were out of the room and the door shut behind them, Pashavar leaned back in his chair and glanced thoughtfully at Iviro.

“Teru Tethimar was there,” he said, “but he had no interest in Corazhas matters. He was wearing out the rug of the Mitchentheileian before the meeting, just waiting for the emperor arrive. The emperor had apparently been present at his nohecharis’ revethvoran last night and Tethimar was aghast that the adramaza would permit such a thing. To be frank, when Edrehasivar did arrive, I rather agreed with Tethimar. The boy looks like he hasn’t slept in a week and has an ulcer eating away at him.”

Iviro tugged the small porcelain bowl of roasted almonds closer to her. “I did hear talk about this and that the emperor was tearing apart the furnishings of the Alcethmeret when he returned. I didn’t even think to believe it. But I suppose some people do find comfort in seeing a body for themselves. Reports can be falsified, but one can trust one’s own eyes.”

“He doesn’t sound especially comforted,” Lanthevel replied dryly. He snatched up a handful of apricots and tried his tea, which was a touch too hot. “Did he say anything regarding his plans going forth?”

Pashavar snorted. “Edrehasivar? Sure, he pontificated on the subject for half an hour. No, in sooth, Tethimar was concerned enough to ask the emperor directly as to whether he was well and the boy squirmed even out of that one. But he is due to speak with the Witness for the Emperor later today. What would you give to be in that room while Mer Csovar does his work?”

“More than the Lanthevada possess,” Iviro replied and Lanthevel nodded in agreement. Mer Csovar was among the very best in his field and would not surrender until the emperor gave him the full, unfiltered truth. But an emperor’s testimony was considered too incendiary for a written record to be produced, so Mer Csovar’s memory would be the only repository for the emperor’s true thoughts about Chavar and Shevean’s attempted coup.

“Some feats are beyond even us,” Lanthevel said, on the off-chance Iviro’s hunger for information overcame her better judgement and she ventured to approach Mer Csovar. “Never mind that. How did he look overall? Angry or nervous or…”

Pashavar tapped his well-polished fingernails against his wine glass. “As I said, he looked tired,” he said in slow, measured words. “I won’t ask why you’re concerned with the emperor’s mood, although I believe I can guess. For what it’s worth, I don’t think the storm one would expect after a coup attempt is coming. He’s had three days. People are being released, not arrested. The boy just doesn’t have it in him.”

_Iviro was trying to say the same thing earlier, wasn’t she?_

In sooth, both Iviro and Pashavar had better instincts when it came to politics. Lanthevel managed well-enough on day-to-day matters, but crises and critical decision points were beyond him. As nerve-wracking as attempting to walk along a tightrope strung across the Istandaartha. But while Lanthevel struggled to stay above the waterline, Iviro and Pashavar seemed happy to swim through the roil of court intrigue, instinctively understanding the shifts of currents and how to find calm shallow waters. If Iviro and Pashavar were in agreement, he would defer to their opinion.

Yet accepting that he was unlikely to be dragged to the dungeons in the immediate future was not the joyful experience Lanthevel would have expected it to be. After three days of ceaseless anxiety, its release felt only like a hollow anti-climax. He reached for his tea and sipped on it, without contributing to the conversation or even listening to it. He emptied his cup before he regained enough sense of himself to re-enter the world about him.

“Respectfully, Lord Pashavar, I disagree,” Iviro was saying. “The emperor’s interests a beginning to emerge. The bridge is one, which I fear will cause you much consternation. The advancement of the rights of women is the other. Did you hear, Lord Pashavar, that his new nohecharis is a woman?”

“I thought that was unconfirmed,” Lanthevel cut in.

“Oh no, very solidly confirmed. Her name is Kiru Athmaza and she’s a cleric of Csaivo.”

Pashavar let out an impolite huff. “I concur with Tethimar, the adramaza has gone daft.”

“The emperor must disagree. Fundamentally, I think, the court needs to understand: we have a new emperor now and with him comes a new era. Changes will be afoot, some of which may be easier to bear than others,” Iviro replied with a coy smile, then sampled the selection of cured meats on offer.

Pashavar, for his part, had manners enough not to voice whatever was on the tip of his tongue, but only nodded and tipped the rest of his glass into his mouth. Lanthevel, meanwhile, mulled on his niece’s words.

Changes were already afoot. As much as it pained Lanthevel to acknowledge, the old generation had died with Varenechibel. Berenar was closer in age to Iviro than to Lanthevel and Pashavar. Within the circle emerging around the emperor, Mer Aisava seemed to be the oldest and he was only in his mid-twenties. In some ways the emperor and his closest reminded Lanthevel of the groups he had mingled in when he first entered the university — bright, young men certain they would change the world before they turned thirty. But they had been only students prowling university taverns. Edrehasivar ruled an empire. And if anyone could demand the world to bend to their vision, it was the emperor.

Iviro caught Lanthevel’s eye and asked. “What sayest thou, uncle, would it be so awful to live in the era of Edrehasivar?”

_He’s moderately likable, although very reserved. Were he any other nobleman’s son… but he’s the emperor and I’m not…_

Before Lanthevel could mold his thoughts into coherent words, Pashavar spoke up. “I don’t believe he has the personality to make his reign his own. And while we are fortunate he seemed to have not inherited certain excesses Verenechibel was prone to, a weak, ineffectual emperor is also a trial to live under.”

“He earned Idra Drazhar’s loyalty,” Iviro replied as she refilled Pashavar’s wine glass. “Perhaps if you give him a fair chance, he may yet win your true loyalty too.”

_A fair chance._ The phrase had no special significance for Pashavar, but for Lanthevel and Iviro, those words evoked a conversation that had become a bedrock of their relationship. Lanthevel had never doubted the intelligence of women; his mother was the one who had inspired and cultivated his interest in language and etymology. But he had been sceptical when he was about to take up the family seat in the House of Blood and Iviro proposed to become his assistant.

_An thou givest me a fair chance, I’ll be useful to you._

That proved to be an understatement. Iviro had the political instincts of her grandfather, which neither Lanthevel nor his brother possessed. If not for her quiet work in the background, Lanthevel would not have achieved half of what he had. She deserved the foreground. But there was as much chance of that as of Archduchess Videro being crowned empress.

Perhaps Edrehasivar could push things to change. Iviro certainly seemed to hope he would.

Even if he did, it would be too late for Iviro. Societal change was not a matter of a year, or two, or five. But Iviro had several siblings, all of whom had produced a gaggle of children. Among them, were two girls who were never seen without a book. Chemistry fascinated Elecho, while Uilino was determined to improve airship design. Perhaps change might come soon enough for them.

“What if Pashavar is right and he flounders?” Lanthevel asked. This was not a conversation they should be having in Pashavar’s presence. He was a dear friend, but he was not Lanthevada. And yet, Lanthevel could not restrain himself.

Iviro was silent for a moment. “Politics are a form of gambling, nothing is ever certain. But I think I’m prepared to accept the odds on this one.”

She put on her polite smile for Pashavar’s sake, then seemed to realise that she had forgotten about her tea. Her cup sat untouched and no doubt verged on tepid by now. She gulped it down nevertheless and quirked her eyebrow at Lanthevel in a challenge.

_A fair chance._ Fair, in Iviro’s parlance, meant more than sitting back and waiting to see whether a person would careen to failure or find the elusive path to success. Fair meant actively supporting and helping in any way one could. It was quite different to waiting idly until Idra reached his majority.

Lanthevel sighed. He had no idea what he ought to be doing and he had always hated gambling, but he trusted Iviro. “The odds are better than they were a week ago,” he said.

“Perhaps,” Pashavar muttered in the carefully neutral manner he employed when he was keen to avoid an argument. He scooped a handful of sugared cranberries out of the ornate silver bowl. “But enough of this heavy talk, I get enough of that at the Corazhas. A lighter question for you. The boy’s birthday is on Winternight, shall we gamble on which house will send the most ludicrous gift?”

“By what parameters are we to judge how ludicrous a gift is or isn’t?” Iviro said with a laugh that lit up her face. “What are we getting him, uncle? We had best make sure our gift is not the most ludicrous, that’ll be a rigged contest.”

She was sure to have put an order for jewellery or an overly ornate dagger weeks ago, before the attempted coup. Likely, before she or Lanthevel had personally met the emperor. A generic gift would have sufficed then. Not so much now. But what was appropriate and meaningful to a nineteen-year-old emperor?

Lanthevel had been in Cetho that Winternight nineteen years ago. A miserable day when no amount of warm clothing could keep you comfortable. But like everyone else in the city, he rushed outside when he heard the bells drown out the howling winds, proclaiming the birth of a new imperial heir. An unwanted, half-goblin child born of a sixteen-year-old empress. Surely, no one who had heard those bells, not even Empress Chenelo, would have ever thought that child would rise to claim the throne.

_The Empress_.

Lanthevel did his utmost best to keep his face impassive, but he doubted he succeeded.

Why had they failed to grasp the obvious before? Lanthevel, Iviro, Pashavar — all of them had heard Edrehasivar talk of his mother and by his tone, it was clear that he still fervently missed her. And all of the Ethuveraz knew how callously Varenechibel had behaved towards her.

Videro’s marriage. The emperor’s open support for his sister’s progressive ideals. The appointment of a nohecharo instead of a nohecharis. This was Edrehasivar’s retribution for the way his father had mistreated his mother.

_Devious boy. I believe I like thee after all, Edrehasivar._

“There’s no present yet,” Lanthevel said. “But I have an idea.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first venture into the Goblin Emperor fandom. I only have the audiobook and the German translation at hand, so while I tried to double-check the details, my apologies if I ended up mangling any of the canon.


End file.
